


He Dreams of Being Old

by Agent_Talis



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Dreams, Gen, Introspection, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 21:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7523560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Talis/pseuds/Agent_Talis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to be old with white hair and questionable dress sense.<br/>He wants to be old with a steady pension and aching bones.<br/>He wants to be old and tut at the next generation’s follies and secretly rejoice in their triumphs. <br/>He wants to be old and amble through his days with a good book and a glass of wine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Dreams of Being Old

He can’t wait to be old.

It’s a strange wish, one that is rarely expressed: not by him, not by Bodie and not by anyone else he’s ever heard.

He wants to be old with white hair and questionable dress sense.

He wants to be old with a steady pension and aching bones.

He wants to be old and tut at the next generation’s follies then secretly rejoice in their triumphs.

He wants to be old and amble through his days with a good book and a glass of wine.

He wants to be old so he has time: thin time; soft time; as-gold-as-sand-in-an-hourglass time.

He wants to have a scrapbook overflowing with pictures that no one ever looks at except him.

He wants to be able to rest in a garden filled with roses and lavender without smelling the cordite that taints them.

He wants to be old enough to be given a cheap, stupid watch to count away his retirement.

He wants to be old because you always want what you can’t have. The rate he’s going (a bullet to his thigh, two to the chest and one in the shoulder, so many lines from fractures that he doesn’t remember them all) he’s going to be lucky to even see middle-age.

Doyle counts every grey hair he finds, even though Bodie teases him about them. Each is an accomplishment, a victory over the faceless death.

He knows death very well. He’s seen it, felt the cold grasping hands. He’s directed it, protected friends from it and bribed it to stay away.

There are too many graves that he visits with small years on them.

But he also fears his age for he fears isolation in his twilight years.

He would not choose a life of peace and loneliness. He’ll take violence and sin if it allows him to remain with his rock and other half. Ying and yang. Fire and ice.

 Nonetheless, he dreams of being old.

He dreams that they will grow old together.


End file.
